Scorpio Rising

It’s not a real consistent journey, because of the eclectic styles, but the masterful sequencing makes it flow smoothly from track to track.

Its sounds are equally rich and emotive, just not as goblin-esque [as Contino Sessions]. [#5, p.91]

For about 17 minutes, the duo's third album comes terrifyingly close to brilliance. [Aug 2003, p.114]

Exotic, deep, unique. [Oct 2002, p.110]

And though the influences/peers - Stooges, Velvet Underground, Krautrock, Spiritualized, Primal Scream - remain the same, this exceptional collection of visionary psychedelia is more ethereal and somewhat bereft of the cloaked fug of death threats, serial killers or "eggs bearing insects hatching in my mind" that made 'Contino' such a brain-damaged future Goth classic.

Mind-melting Indian-flavored strings... wispy vocal guest turns... and snarling, droning guitar riffs drench Rising in a pleasing psychedelic haze. [Jul 2003, p.124]

Scorpio Rising may not have the coherence of its forerunner, but its individual eclectic achievements still add up to an engaging album.

No influence spills into the next song and that makes for fairly rigidly eclectic listening, but it's done so artfully that there's never a sense of stylistic boxes simply being crossed.

A curious but highly enjoyable mix of experimental beats and good old-fashioned guitar rock. [Jul 2003, p.92]

An album that's transcendent in fits and starts, undermined by one too many celebs in the vocal booth.

Perhaps the duo is just second-tier to begin with, or perhaps they just let the needle swing too far towards the rock side of the dial, but the peak moments on Scorpio Rising offer little more than enjoyable nostalgia for overhead-projector light shows.

There's no doubting their enthusiasm but it seems Death In Vegas have compiled a list of great cult albums rather than actually making one themselves. [Oct 2002, p.102]

While everything on the release is technically put together well and even sometimes compelling (the two album-opening tracks work about the best), most of the time things feel like they've been written specifically for the person who's singing them.

Not so much a step in the wrong direction as a step in far too many different directions at once.

A mixed offering, then, from a band still searching, albeit interestingly, for their own centre. [Oct 2002, p.102]

A strangely dispassionate exercise in record-collection rock. [#17, p.133]

Sounds like musicians so thoroughly bereft of ideas and energy that they've resorted to lifting melodies from their record collections wholesale while crossing their fingers for luck, hoping no one will notice the difference between inspiration and theft. [#59, p.88]